boketto
Abstract: Vol. 1
There are 14 hairpin bends and a lot of green. Stomach churns at every bend and nausea threatens to evolve into projectile vomiting. Are you one of those who feels the same way? I have found the reason for this:
Basically, it’s down to a mismatch between what your eyes are seeing and your body is feeling. Your body senses that you are moving forwards, but your eyes are focused on a book or the amazing scenery to your left and right, so they don’t report that you are moving. When this reaches your brain, it recognizes that there’s a mismatch there. One sense says you’re moving, and the other says you aren’t. As far as the brain is concerned, it’s not possible for you to be stationary and moving at the same time, so you have to be hallucinating. Brain is there to protect you from all ills and therefore, it makes you nauseous as it believes you’ve ingested something to make you hallucinate, and wants to make sure that you throw it up if possible.
Driver doesn’t have this sensation because he focuses on the road and the senses are at consensus that you are traveling and not stationary.
Talking about travel, the driver who made our journey pleasant made sure that I sat beside him. There were four in the vehicle and he insisted that I be his front seat companion. I was touched until he gave me the real reason during a short stop for tea. He has identified me as the person who can talk non-stop about this, that and nothing. Not that I am amazing company, but just for the fact that I would keep him engaged while he drove and wouldn’t create empty silence, which may lull him into sleep.
Half the fruits sold there in the hills are imported from the plains, but they look fresh and inviting just because of the weather. Bread feels soft, cakes coat the tongue and the sweetness stays a tad longer and the tea tastes like tea. Everything is given a shine, even the milestones look fresh. Well, that explains why even I look good in a few snaps.
That got me thinking: If you surround yourself with value, you become valuable. I am trying to connect the dots, do you see it?
Trivia: Can you differentiate between a male sparrow and a female one? Male sparrows have a black smear on their soft necks while the female ones are plain white. Well, the point is, there are sparrows to be found in Ooty, which is a rarity in the plains.
Government schools are housed in dilapidated structures. The whole place is a mess. Students are ill mannered. Teachers are old, look haggard; don’t know what they are talking about, downright lazy, heavily paid and bad role models. Students come around for the midday meals; speak in vernacular, loud and foul mouth anyone who visits. In a nutshell, it is an absolute disaster.
I belong to a generation that critiques the batting style of MS Dhoni without ever playing cricket at a competitive level, being cynical about government’s every move without being a participant or volunteering to procure information about any of the schemes laid out, lashing out subjectively at anything that doesn’t suit me without much of an objective thought. In short, an armchair critique possessed with laziness that will shame a snail in movement.
Yours truly judged the book even before it hit the stands.
Cognitive dissonance. Heard about it? I am supremely confident of my preset notions and vociferously defend them without the help of silly things like facts. Well, but, when reality stares in your face and deals a sharp slap, you can’t help but agree. I happened to have the privilege to visit at least 20 Government Schools in and around Ooty, Coonoor and Kothagiri. From the heart of the city to cozy little green pockets like Kagguchi, Naduhatty, Thuneri, et al.
The sight that greets you once you enter the school is the bright assortment of flower plants of all shapes and sizes. Nature plays gardener here with a little help from the students who maintain every shrub, herb, plant and tree. Playground, classroom and toilets are spotless and pristine clean. Not a scrap of paper to be found and there is an eerie quiet with a distant buzz of classes in progress. Teachers are well turned out, dynamic and concerned. Hospitality to a guest is admirable and took us by surprise. Furniture in the Principal’s room is centuries old, but elegantly cloth covered. Desktop computers are covered with face towels and keyboards still have their covers on. I thought it was the biting cold that led to this, but alas, they as people value them more than us with our ever growing inches-rich smart phones.
Sun peeks through the dense tree cover to take a look at students who religiously pore over their precious notebooks in the parking lot. Yes, you can find students studying under the tree, on the parking lot, corridors, nook, crevice, and crater; sometimes in the classrooms too.
Schools are gender neutral and if you are looking for any sort of adolescence-induced trouble, the fault is in your eyes. These kids are sorted out. Almost all the schools produced 100% results or thereabouts in the Higher Secondary year after year. Every single Principal I met proudly spouts these numbers. Teachers stay back in the evening from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. to provide extra coaching to students if needed.
Every teacher I met treated me with absolute kindness and admirable courtesy. I for a moment thought it was owing to my city manners and the institution I represent. Ten minutes is all it took for me to see that they accorded the same respect to anyone and sundry. They treat everyone in such a manner because that is the way they choose to treat anyone and one should never ever mistake this graceful trait for their weakness.
Schools are equipped with Smart Boards that stream live classes at appointed time by Subject Matter Experts from all over the State. Yes, the smart board is covered with cloth too.
Inhibition is alien to these kids. They don’t have the luxury to lax as they know this is their means to survive. Teachers empathize with the students and equip them with education to chart their own careers and eventually, life.
The path to school is steep. I had to catch my breath twice and look for any signs of elevator on the mud steps. Sign of comfort arrogance. The geography is thus designed by God: steep climbs, sharp curves, blind pits, difficult terrain for any age. These kids were born here. A little tot sports at least three layers of clothing: shirt-trousers, tie, sweater, and an overcoat, sometimes complemented with a hood. They travel heavy, but with a sprightly step with Mother Nature as their companion.
I picked out a tiny flower, plucked and thrown on the ground by an inconsiderate human. This will make for a beautiful gift for my beloved.
Nature gifts love even in its last breath.
Abstract: Vol. 2
There is this narrow road that I have to negotiate to backup my car into my house. Quite a challenging one this one minute journey, I promise you. There are screaming children running like in all directions as if their little apartments were on fire, the loud milkman on his vehicle, which is camouflaged with milk cans navigating through street taps, narrowly missing my vehicle, and of course, my mom haggling with an old lady who was selling red guava.
She talks loud, vernacular colorful, tics and mannerism quite a picture. My mom! Old lady was another breed altogether: animated, focused, aware and dramatic. They didn’t give a damn about my car stranded near the gate. Honked twice only to be drowned by their heated argument for 5 good rupees. I hate this about my mom. Why harass someone who walks barefoot to sell her wares for a few bucks to keep her stove warm? I will never know. Threw a scorching glance at her to wrap it up so my beloved Maruti Swift can wade in to the porch and be the playground for my ever-eager kids.
At last, triumphantly, mom walked in with a plastic bagful of guavas. She got her bargain.
My dad was lazing around the house looking for any paper with news printed on it: Tamil or English. He gets his daily news from three sources: Newspapers, Television and Whatsapp. He is an active participant in all the television debates. He believes he is in one of the boxes along with the other panelists in any debate and voices his opinions to no one in particular. He sometimes watches television even when it is switched off.
I spot my mom foraging through the attic. It was 9 p.m. in the night. In 37 years of my existence now, I have never been able to guess what my mom would do next. Curiosity became a distraction and I had to ask what exactly was she looking for. She says the same thing that she has been saying to me for 37 years now: “Mind your own business.”
“Okay.”
I check my mail, daily news, texts and watch videos for a few minutes and my mom is back. She announces that her silk saree collection is threatening to tilt the wardrobe off balance and therefore, she is going to seek out the designer (tailor) to stitch little ethnic dresses for my two girls tomorrow.
With that said she walks into another room and comes out with three well worn dresses of my kids, places them under her mattress neatly spread, one next to another. Well, it looks like, dresses under the mattress is her idea of ironing the folds.
The reason for the dresses themselves in her own words: the guava lady will be around tomorrow same time on her routine beat and of course, my mom found time amidst ferocious haggling to uncover her familial details. She has three daughters. The dresses sleeping under the mattress are for her.
Smartphone in hand, I walk into Reliance Fresh, pick the fruits, neatly pack it myself with the rolled up cover lying about, stand in queue, tender exact change, pay for another bag, walk out without a recognition or human experience of the transaction.
I buy my fruit, organic as prescribed by Whatsapp messages, but without any life in them.
My heart sinks and skips a few beats when I wonder: Is my mom, like a few of her ilk, the last of the endangered species who wears her heart on her sleeve without pretense?
Rumination
If our conscience had a form and manages to stand and stare at us without flinching for a good minute until we look inward, trace the shape of our heart mindfully, and proceed to peel the flimsy alien layer gently, it should unmask empathy, human courtesy and goodness.
Question:
Is it ignorance if we choose to close our eyes?
Final Word
Dots may not connect. Orphaned disjointed spaces may.
Look.
